


Rapunzel, Rapunzel; let down your hair

by thepeskyunicorn



Series: THB fanwork week [7]
Category: History Boys (2006)
Genre: (read into it what you will), M/M, Minor Character Death, fairytale AU, featuring hector as a dead witch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4881136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepeskyunicorn/pseuds/thepeskyunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s finally here. Coated with blood - mostly of the dead dragon- dirty, and exhausted by the long trek through the Forest; but he made it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rapunzel, Rapunzel; let down your hair

**Author's Note:**

> Rapunzel au cos really, why not?
> 
> THB fanwork week - Day 7

He’s finally here. Coated with blood - mostly of the dead dragon- dirty, and exhausted by the long trek through the Forest; but he made it. 

Breathless, Scripps tries to remain standing on wobbly legs as he casts another look at the leafy curtain behind him, a thin veil between the Forest and the secret hideaway of the kidnapped Prince.

Scripps clutched the crumpled piece of parchment tighter in his aching hand, squinting against the reflective edge of the stone tower. The clearing matches the description the dead knight provided.

A detailed sketch, hastily drawn, was found a few months ago in James Lockwood’s leather satchel near the demarcations of the Kingdom’s limits by soldiers on patrol. The owner was, unfortunately, missing.

From what they could piece together, Lockwood’s luck ran out. Dragon’s nests are hard to spot, and if the scraps of torn clothing and half a leg found near the kingdom’s boundaries were any proof, a potentially dangerous encounter.

The kingdom mourned the death of a knight and another day without the absent Prince. Scripps alone mourned the death of his friend. 

Here, in the aftermath of the grueling journey, he sends a silent prayer to the soldier and surveys his surroundings tensely. 

Scripps has to admit, for a prison, the place looks rather nice. There is a waterfall in the far corner of the open area, powerful enough that he can feel the spray of water against his skin. A lush bloom surrounded the tower, resplendent in the hot summer air. The witch had clearly put much thought in blending in as much as possible.

Scripps isn't entirely certain that the greenery is natural. He runs his tongue across the back of his teeth, gloved hand reflexively going to the hilt of his sword in a nervous gesture as he tasted the electricity in the air. Old magic, strong and potent, ripples through the air, making his mouth salivates and hair stand. No wonder the place had been so well hidden.

To many, it would have been suicide to embark on this mission. Not to him. Hailing from one of the bravest family of knights, loyal only to the king, Scripps had been the first volunteered for the mission. He has never seen his father look so proud before and was ready to resign himself to the fact that he may also never see his father again.

No, he has a different reason for volunteering for this. Scripps still remembers the Prince, with his skinny limbs and loud voice, inviting Scripps to join him behind the rose bushes in the royal garden after his daily sparring session to read. They shared a special bond over their love for books and Scripps would often sneak away after practice with an armful of food stolen from the kitchen for another of their rendezvous. He still recalls the old ballads sung, poetry recited, and plays reenacted with the bittersweet remembrance of unsweetened chocolate he used to steal from the kitchen cabinets. But no one knew of their secret, and they were both happy at keeping it that way.

He still has the memory of the day the Prince went missing, seared in his mind. It was the day before his sixth birthday and he had sprinted to the rose bushes, as usual, bouncing eagerly on his toes while waiting for his playmate to arrive. He had hoped to invite the Prince to his birthday gathering tomorrow. Nothing grand, just a small congregation of his family to celebrate another milestone.

The Prince never arrived. 

Scripps had been disappointed but he chose to believe that it was because the other boy had other princely duties to fulfil. Perhaps that was why people were running about in such a frenzy back at the castle then.

Later that night, an announcement was made regarding the Prince’s disappearance. There was much despair and sorrow amongst the kingdom and a royal notice has been given out as a reward to those who could bring him back. 

They never did celebrate Scripps’s sixth birthday.

Twelve years later and Scripps is standing in the middle of the clearing, facing the tower keeping his childhood friend captive. 

He suppose that if he were to die today, it would at least still be a wonderful day to die. After all, the sun is shining pleasantly, he’s surrounded by the towering, deciduous trees with flowers peeking shyly beneath his boots and the birds singing their ode to the summer-

Wait. Singing?

Magic this old and foreign has the tendency to repel all that is natural and living. The witch had probably made allowances for the his prisoner and the greenery but otherwise…

Scripps frowned as he tested the runes softly shimmering in the air. He traced them, carefully following their trail towards the tower, noting the faint notes of discord between the interconnected string but everything still seems to hold. The magic looks normal.

Except for the body lying face down at the bottom of the tower.

It’s the witch’s body. From the look of it, he’s been recently dead, not yet cold and not yet decomposing. That explains the weakening of the runes.

Scripps blows out a breath and cursed. Unexpected and unwanted twists to the rescue mission is not what he signed up for. Now he’ll have to go back empty handed, face the disappointment of the king, and start another exhausting journey.

Frustration built up in his chest as he stood on creaky knees. He had failed the kingdom, his family, and most importantly, his friend.

“Hey!”

A shout from above jolted Scripps from his self admonishment and he glanced up, shielding his eyes from the sun.

The tail end of a pristine white bedcloth burst from the tiny window at the top of the tower and flows down, jerking to a halt near his knee.

Scripps looks on in amazement as a lithe figure starts to shimmy down the makeshift rope. The incredulity of the situation finally caught up with him and all he could do is manage a weak whimper of confusion. “Your Highness?”

Scripps never got an answer, because for a heart stopping moment, the man’s hand slips and plummets from the rope.

Acting on instinct, Scripps holds out his arms and braces himself.

Whump.

The man lands heavily, looking more surprised than frightened at the fall. Scripps gently let him down on his feet, which were strangely bare and soft, before standing back to watch in wonder.

It is him. There’s no mistaking it. The Prince, with the same straight nose, the same expressive eyes and the same grace in his body as he brushes himself off and wriggle his toes in delight.

The Prince glanced around, nose crinkling at the body of the dead witch as he delicately tiptoes around the dandelions. He dips his toes in a puddle, laughing in glee.

Scripps starts out of his revelry and clears his throat. “Your Highness, I, Donald Scripps, your humble servant, have come to-”

“Donald? Donald Scripps?”

The Prince whirls around to look at Scripps, moving forward way too fast and leaning in way too close. Scripps stands still, uncertain as to what is actually happening.

“Scripps.” The Prince breaths. “Scrippsy, I can’t believe it.” He laughs, loud and relieved. “It’s me, David!” He grabs Scripps’s wrist, smile eager and wide, so very much like the boy he knew that he couldn’t help but smile too. “David Posner! You used to play with me, before all this.”

“Yes.” There are no other words that he could say to articulate the pure joy he feels, no action other than the grin threatening to split his face in two. The pain in his joints and the stickiness of the blood matters not anymore. “Yes, I do remember. And,er, if you don’t mind, we have to go home now.”

The Prince’s brows furrows. “Home? But I…” His hand reaches for the brown satchel secured to his side. “I packed for an adventure.” He digs through the contents, eyes looking worriedly at Scripps. “I stole the witch’s map just before I pushed him out the window. And I saw. I saw! There is so much beauty in the world, so much still undiscovered.” He unearths a ragged parchment, hastily folded, and proceeds to unfold it, spreading the artfully drawn map eagerly. “I don’t want to go home just yet. I want to explore.”

Scripps is a man of resolve, a soldier who has withstood the toughest training set by generations of warriors past. He has always stood firm to his duty and done matters with the utmost certainty.

And yet, at this moment, with the Prince’s wide eyes gazing hopefully at him, he finds himself wavering. He knows he’s most probably going to regret this but he has lived a life of safety and rules. Why not break them now?

“Alright.” He finally says. “Let’s explore.”

For the first time in a long while, Scripps feels excitement building in his chest as they crash through the leafy veil, turning left instead of right, and going ever deeper into the Forest. The feeling has grown big enough to overcome the sense of duty in his chest, big enough that they reach up to tug a small smile at the corner of his lips, making it grow until all he could do is look at the beaming Prince and grin stupidly. A part of him knows there will be hell to pay when he gets back, but if he has learnt anything, it is that it would be better to seize the moment than let it go.

Carpe diem, he thinks, glancing down at the map and mentally tracing their path. Why not?


End file.
